Golden Eggs
Tragedy: (Noun); An event that causes great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
One thing the arrangers of marriage don’t tell you is that one day your spouse falls and breaks apart, and there’s nothing you can do to put them back together. I assist the maids to set the table with a tray of jollof rice, grilled chicken, and a veggie and fruit salad. My husband has been glued to the TV screen for a month. The ongoing investigations have clearly been taking a toll on him, we’ve been getting constant visits from law enforcement and tax revenue officers. There have been rumors that the mansions in Lagos and Kano would be raided by EFCC soon. This had kept him restless day and night. I walk down into the living room and find Usman pacing on his feet watching the 7 o'clock news. It’s plastered with pictures of him with the headline: “The Biggest corruption scandal of the decade involving the Director of the Nigerian Petroleum Commission, Usman Adamu is in the eye of the storm.”
I ignore it and call out to him: “Maigida, dinner is ready, it’s your favorite.”
He turns to me and starts to smile, but abruptly grabs my hand firmly, falling slowly into my bosom. I’m glad I can manage to bring out his playful side even in such hard times. Clutching his chest, his body starts to slip off. I saw the stricken look on his face, and everything slowed down.
“Ka-ra-ma please-help-me,” he managed to let out.
“Oh my God! Someone please help! Call the ambulance quickly!” I screamed as loud as my voice would let me, till I could hear it echo around the Villa.
Chaos erupted. The house keepers, security, and maids rushed in; everyone crowded us. Then the seizures started, his body convulsing unnaturally.
In the ER, I was told that he had a heart attack and a partial stroke. He would be transferred to the ICU in the morning, which meant we were going to be here for a while.
“My goodness Smallie, I’m so sorry.” Atika wrapped her super scented arms around me.
Mairo sits to my left and I lean my head on her shoulder.
“Everything will be fine,” she said.
I know she just said that to make me feel better, but I nod in agreement, grateful that my besties are here with me.
The one who used to be my fortress is lying still, like the life inside him is on the verge of being squeezed out. In our 23 years of matrimony, he has never been in a state of lack of health: he never allowed himself to be. I’m still in shock and disbelief that he, of all people, is tucked in white sheets and dressed in a hospital gown, but also that he had hidden his heart disease from me all this while. He has always embodied the true definition of being an open book. I cannot stand to see him in this condition, so I look away towards the window that displays the beautiful hospital garden mocking me from below. But I hold onto his ever-warm hand, the only sign of life in him.
“Good morning Ma’am. His Excellency has asked to see his wife,” the nurse said to me when I walked into the ICU on the fifth day. I offered to FaceTime the uwargida, Usman’s first wife, but he specified that he asked for me and only me.
Usman turned to look at me with what I assume was a smile on his face.
“My Smallie!”
“I’m here.”
He tugged my veil, indicating I should move closer to him.
“Please listen, be careful,” he said. “There’s a box filled with valuables that I have hidden for 20 years at the Ranch. Get it as quickly and discreetly as you can and hide it somewhere safe.”
“But Maigida, considering the ongoing investigations, how would I be able to pull this off myself?”
For a split second, the way he looked at me felt like life coming back to his body. “I trust you more than anyone in this world, I believe that you can do it.”
I wanted to hesitate again but there would be no point, he always has something more profound to tackle my doubts. I gave him the tightest hug, tucked him in properly, and headed home.
After Isha prayer, Baba Joda, the loyal keeper of our ranch, and his two sons were waiting for me with a huge metal box. I went to check on the horses first as I always do and handed each of the men a bundle of 50k naira, but Baba Joda refused to take the money.
Before driving off I said, “Nagode Baba, Thank you so much for all you do.”
“Insha Allah, everything will be fine.” He reassured me that he is praying for me and will always be a call away if I needed help.
Trust:( Verb) firm belief in the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something; a person or thing in which confidence is placed; confident hope.
The housekeepers put the box in my closet as I instructed. I stare at it for a few minutes, wondering if I should open it or not. I take a peek at the contents and close it immediately. I have to call my friends first.
I was given two choices: to marry the wealthy Usman Adamu or go to university and risk being outcasted by my family. Always guard your husband like a guinea fowl’s egg, my mother’s voice reminded me. Alhaji asked me to pick a honeymoon gift and I told him about an admission into my dream school. Three months later, I was sitting in the library of American University of Nigeria with two ladies who were kind enough to invite me for a study session. Atika or Masifa - the trouble maker (as I prefer to call her) and dare devil who introduced the idea that me and Usman should get toys to spice up our intimacy. She argues that our religion is a little too supportive of misogyny, although I disagree with her on that and many other controversial subjects. Mairo, the calm Yes-lady and little miss goody-two-shoes, was an acute people pleaser. If I gave her an egg to hold, I am a hundred percent certain that she would cradle it with her sweet soul. Despite our differences, the last thirteen years with these wonderful women have proved that I can trust them with my life.
Before I could say “Jack Robinson'', my right-hand ladies were in a room, overly decorated with gold-plated furniture, where I laid out my struggles out to them. They had stopped watching the national news in solidarity: it was hard to see all those accusations. I’m a pendulum, swinging between worry for Usman’s life and the smear on his career. I tell them I hate how they paint him as a gold-digging man, as though he had no possessions before he became the director. Atika said she knows that Usman is not the sort to take blindly to what he’s being accused of. But the investigators say those approvals came directly from his office. Mairo nodded in agreement about how unfair it was that he had to battle for his health and dignity at the same time. I proceeded to show them the huge task that was required of me.
Mairo started, “Karama what’s in this box? The suspense is killing me.”
“I hope there are no human heads in here,” said Atika.
“ATIKA! Atika, can you be serious for once?” Mairo cautioned
I ignored their banter and told them to promise me that this would remain between the three of us. They agreed and I unlocked the box.
They both gasped in unison; “What is this? Why?”
“Ahhh, this is in the category of finding human heads!” Atika yelled.
Usman and I spoke, I told him that I only trust them to help me with this. It’s the only way to safeguard what he had before he became E.D or else they'll haunt him down till they take his very last Kobo.
“Please, I’m splitting this in two and you guys would help me keep half.”
“But where would we keep it?” Atika asked.
Mairo responded, “I think I can hide it in the house we’re building, my brother would help me bury it. We haven't done the flooring yet, so I can dig it up.”
I turned to Atika for confirmation, “Smallie I really can’t think of anything, this is thrillerish! Okay fine, give me and I’ll figure it out.”
I was relieved this huge task had been taken off my shoulder, thanks to my soul sisters who promised they’ll always be there for me regardless of how life gets. I reminded them that this was only temporary and I’ll take my husband’s property back once his case is settled.
The following days were spent at the hospital, I layed day and night at Usman’s feet though he urged me to go home, even though I wanted to I refused. That’s the duty of a wife, to care for her husband in sickness and in health, my mother would say. Atika and Mairo took turns in bringing us home cooked meals and change of clothes. We were moved to the private ward, the Elites-only side of the hospital. Usman had gotten weary of sharing a space with commoners. The doctors took him off the ventilator, he could sit up and walk short distances, and for a second I thought: My egg wasn’t broken completely, his cracks were getting mended. A discharge date was given, I left the hospital for the first time in weeks to return home and ensure the villa is in order. My phone rang, and the voice on the other side told me the unfortunate had occurred. My golden egg had completely shattered, his yoke had fallen out and couldn’t be restored. My husband was gone.
The arrangers of marriage don’t tell you that nothing can prepare you for widowhood, not even death itself. Condolences upon condolences, but I still couldn't find any solace. They also don’t tell you that impatient in-laws who claimed to love you while your husband was alive would turn on you before the 40-day traditional grieving mark. My husband has entrusted me with his egg - an important possession. He has always entrusted me with his eggs, almost ignoring that I am the junior wife. Including the ins and outs of his business transactions, it was a pleasure to see the petrified look on the senior wife’s face when he bought the shares to the Dangote Group in my name. Usman succeeded in sweet-talking her with a trip to her favorite destination. To my relief, she stormed out of the house in fury all the way to Dubai and never returned. It was no longer a mystery that I was his favorite, the possessor of the key to his heart, when he raised me to the podium to present his first lady after his promotion as the director of NPC. “Your name might be Karama (small), but you are mighty,” he would say to me whenever I hesitated to accept another responsibility. He believed in my abilities more than his friends, who preferred to let their wives take the backseat; those responsibilities have trained me for moments like these.
Mairo constantly asks me how I’m doing, and I want to tell her his brothers arrived on the 39th to prepare me to give up his properties because neither I nor the Uwargida had borne him any successors. They asked specifically for the box of gold. Of course, I denied any knowledge of it and promised to only let them have what was awarded to them on his will. But I tell her I’m fine. We sit by my poolside while she does my henna.
“Salama Alliakumm to the people of this beautiful house!” Atika’s amplified voice came through, waiving three tickets in her hands.
“Get to packing ladies! We’re going on a vacation!”
Mairo questioned, “Vacay why? Karama is still grieving here.”
“Exactly that’s why she needs a change of scenery, we’re going to the Yankari national park.”
“That's so thoughtful of you Atika but what would people say? A young widow taking off right after her husband dies? That’s uncultured,” I respond.
“And quite un-islamic,” Mairo adds.
Atika persisted. “Here y’all go again will all this culture and religious BS. You’re not jetting out to Vegas, just reconnecting with local nature.”
Atika would never take no for an answer, so we drove off to the mountains.
Betrayal:( noun); · the act of disappointing a person's trust, hopes, or expectations.
“The anti-corruption agency has uncovered an elaborate scheme, but due to the sudden unfortunate death of Usman Adamu, the case will be closed until further notice, and a new Director has been appointed to take over NPC with immediate effect.” The target is finally off my back.
I turn off the TV, and close the door to my chalet as well as my racing thoughts, so I can enjoy my vacation.
We sat in the Yankari warm spring after our safari tour for the day, mother nature’s answer to the spa. The water is clear turquoise blue, reflecting the white sand underneath, flowing out from the surrounding rocks. It remains warm all year round, which has come about as a result of geothermal activity below the park. The healing power of nature seeped into my ailing heart, and the sound of my friends' laughter and the sound of the birds serenading us from the tree branches above made the world a lot brighter.
“Yeah girls, I want the gold back when we get back home please,” I managed to say after a while of silence. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements and there will be a price for keeping it.”
Atika dropped her glass, “Ermm…I don’t think that would be possible, you should have given us a 2-3 week notice.”
“I don’t understand, what do you mean it’s not possible?”
“Look, it’s not easy to hide that amount of gold. I had to make arrangements to make sure it's secure? Do you think I was going to hide it under my bed? Smallie, people get killed for way less than what you gave us to keep?”
Mairo nodded, “Yes she’s very right, we need more time please. It took a lot of maneuvering to keep it away from my husband. Also you know I have domestic staff.”
I replied, “So you both need time?”
I was unmoved by their flimsy excuses, but also wouldn’t let anything ruin my newfound peace. I suggested we have a sleepover in my chalet on our last night at the park. We told tales of our university days, about Atika’s hoe-phase, which she still seems to be stuck in, and Mairo’s “pick me” anti feminist movement when she married her husband, Tanko. I am the nerd and the centerpiece that holds the group together. We used to tell each other everything, at least I used to. We were an inseparable trio. I stepped out of the room to receive a call from Baba Joda about the well-being of the horses.
Upon return, I was halted by a whispery commotion.
“We have a very big problem.”
“Do you have your gold or any part of it?”
“Look Mairo, I told you, I tied it up as an investment and it’s not going to mature til a year’s time! So no I don’t have the gold, what about you? ”
“I gave it to Tanko.”
“What? You just gave him everything? “
“Shhh lower your voice. There was something he needed to acquire and he needed money so I lent it to him.”
“Well that’s easy just ask for it back. At least I’m trying to build myself here and not give everything to a man in my life.”
“He’s my husband, I didn’t have a choice.”
Atika paces around the room. “Karama will have to wait. Besides it’s not clean money, is it clean money? As far as I am concerned, that’s my own share of the loot.”
“She would never let this go. Karama may be our friend, but if she realizes, things may change drastically.”
“Well… We could get rid of her.”
Mairo mumbled, “I don’t want blood on my hands!”
Through the small opening, I could see Atika’s glare almost choking Mairo. She let out a sigh, “Okay, I’m in,” and our eyes met.
Mairo starts apologizing profusely while Atika watches with flared nostrils from the other side of the room, saying she loved me and she had no intention of keeping my gold. I stand in disbelief, unable to move or speak. I don’t know who these people are: I want my friends back. Mairo is on her knees now telling how badly her husband needed the money for a contract, my gold happened to be the closest asset she could find in a short amount of time. I don’t blame her; anything in regards to marriage disorganizes her brain cells and ruins her ability to reason. I tell her I’m doing this for my husband too, and she had better cough out OUR gold at this instant. I walk towards Atika, who betrayed me for nothing other than her selfish gain. I should’ve known her self-centeredness disguised as jokes would catch up with me. I ask her about the money she used to build her clothing stores, and she sneers at me with a type of fury I’ve never seen before. My husband is gone, along with his 50 billion dollars worth of gold, and now I’m about to lose the only other people who mattered to me most. My jaw tightens, and my head was spinning so fast I could almost feel it detach from my body. My left ear rings with the sound of a vase being smashed into someone's head, I think it was mine.
Comfort Sadiya Tambaya. Criminal Justice major and English minor. Class of 2025. Lives in Bowie, Maryland. Born and raised in Nigeria, West Africa. Special Interest: African Literary Fiction.